


Still Into You

by Piplup212



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Cuddling, First Kiss, Fluff, Footnotes, Hurt/Comfort, I just tend to project, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Kissing, M/M, Panic Attacks, Paramore - Still Into You, Probably wildly out of character but who cares, Singing, vent-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 16:37:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19705276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piplup212/pseuds/Piplup212
Summary: A week after the two avert the apocalypse, Crowley invites Aziraphale over for dinner. It proceeds to turn into something that one could liken to a train barreling straight into a brick wall.Lyrics to the song included are from Still Into You by Paramore, the owners of the song.





	Still Into You

**Author's Note:**

> Footnotes at end. I desperately tried to get it to work with HTML but I do not have the mental fortitude to do that.

It was about 7 pm on a rather damp Monday evening, just over a week since the averted apocalypse. Earlier that day Crowley had, quite out of character for the being who had let Aziraphale spend the last few thousand years thinking that if he were to eat he’d combust, invited the angel over for dinner. Aziraphale had asked him if there was anywhere he was planning to go, but Crowley insisted on his flat, and who was Aziraphale to turn down a free meal?

So, Aziraphale took a nice walk to Crowley’s flat. It had just rained about half an hour ago, evident by the fresh smell of rain still lingering in the air. Aziraphale found comfort in that scent1, opting to open a window or two of his bookshop after a storm. Of course, he’d only ever risk doing so if he knew for certain that it would not continue raining. He couldn’t risk his books like that.

When Aziraphale reached Crowley’s flat, he gave three knocks on the door. He didn’t get a response and, while he waited, he put a hand against the door. He could feel the thrum of bass and drums through the wood. Aziraphale was never one to prefer the type of music that he could deduce the demon was thoroughly blasting through his flat2, but he still thought it intriguing to investigate. 

Aziraphale fumbled for his spare key that Crowley gave him the night he had invited the angel to stay with him, sliding it into the lock and opening the door. Aziraphale was almost allowed the chance to be swept up by the absolutely _wonderful_ scents coming from the direction of the kitchen to wash away the scent of fresh rain, but something else got in its way. Singing. _Crowley_ singing.

 **“Some things just, some things just make sense and one of those is you and I.”** It was rather loud, understandably so because of the fact that Crowley seemed intent on knocking the walls of his flat down with the music. **“Some things just, some things just make sense and even after all this time.”**

Convinced that even if he were to wear full plate armor stuffed with roofing nails he would not be heard, Aziraphale made his way to the source of the singing: Crowley’s oft-neglected kitchen. **“I’m into you.”** Aziraphale rounded the corner, giving a quick glance to the statue Crowley kept in the hallway before advancing towards the kitchen. **“Baby, not a day goes by that I’m not into you!”**

When Aziraphale reached the doorway, he saw Crowley leaning against a counter, a speaker sitting next to him, using a wooden spoon as a makeshift microphone. **“I should be over all the _butterfliiies_ , but I’m into you, I’m into you.”** He moved from the counter to the stove, taking the handle of a pan in his hand and deftly tossing its contents. **“And baby even on our worst niiights, I’m into you, I’m into you.”**

Aziraphale stood in the doorway, watching Crowley move around the kitchen. Hearing him sing, not screaming along with the Bentley but actually, genuinely singing, was a luxury Aziraphale rarely got the chance to experience. His voice was one of the few things that seemed to cling to Crowley after the Fall, as well as the bright gold in his eyes, which were on full display, his sunglasses abandoned on the counter. **“Let ‘em wonder how we got this far, ‘cause I don’t really need to wonder at all.”** As he continued to sing, Crowley seemed to refuse to look in the direction of the doorway. **“Yeah, after all this time, I’m still into you, I’m still into you, I’m still into you.”**

The music coming from the speaker immediately stopped, the silence nearly sucking the air from Aziraphale’s lungs. A warm smile was resting on Aziraphale’s face. Through the silence left by the absence of the music, he spoke up. “You really do have a lovely voice.”

Crowley’s head whipped to the doorway Aziraphale stood in, his eyes blown wide as the wooden spoon clattered to the floor. “Aziraphale!” The color drained from his face as he put on a panicked smile. “How long have you been standing there?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Not long. I tried to knock, but you were clearly… Preoccupied.”

Crowley let a shaky breath escape his lungs, looking away. “Yeah, uh… A bit.” He worried at his bottom lip as he began trembling, evident by his hand shaking as he retrieved the dropped spoon and placed it on the counter. He walked to a tall cabinet that held many bottles of wine. “I’m, uh… I’m sorry if that was too loud. I can get kind of carried away.”

Aziraphale stepped into the kitchen, joining him at the cabinet as he pulled a wine bottle down. “No, you were alright. I do quite enjoy hearing you sing, you know.” He looked to Crowley and, a split second before it was wiped away, he saw a tear making its way down Crowley’s face. Concern hit him like a bus as Crowley left the kitchen walked to a room with a small, quaint table with a tartan tablecloth3 thrown over it, and he set the wine bottle down. He followed a few steps behind him. “Crowley, dear, are you alright?”

There was silence, Crowley refusing to turn around before he gripped his hair in his hands. “Damn it, why am I-” Aziraphale could hear Crowley’s throat close up, cutting off his sentence. Aziraphale ran over as Crowley’s knuckles went white from the intensity of the grip on his hair, choked sobs washing out of him through gritted teeth.

Aziraphale pulled out the two lone chairs from the table, setting one behind Crowley and guiding him to sit. He took a seat in the other chair, reaching up to remove Crowley’s hands from his hair. He resisted, so Aziraphale just let his hands rest over the other’s. 

Weak sounds resembling words attempted to come from Crowley’s throat, finally breaking through after a few tries. “I’m- I’m sorry you have to see this, I shouldn’t have- I’m overreacting, I-”

Aziraphale cut him off with a gentle whisper. “Crowley, dear, it’s alright. Can you take a few deep breaths for me?”

It should be known of both demons and angels that it is not standard for them to have panic attacks. However, it can happen, especially when they’ve been in their assigned corporations for multiple millennia. Their minds are built to handle more traumatic events than many humans will ever go through, and they are to carry those events for eternity. However, like humans, sometimes all it takes to overflow the bucket is a single drop.

It took some effort, the first few breaths only seeming to further fuel Crowley’s panic, but the sobs eventually stopped. Aziraphale took out a handkerchief, wiping away his tears. “You’re doing wonderfully, dear.” Crowley’s hands released their grip on his hair, falling in his lap. Aziraphale took them in his own. “Do you want to talk about what upset you?”

Crowley nodded, silent for a beat before taking a deep breath. “I don’t like letting people hear me sing. Demons don’t sing. Trying to sing down there will get you screamed at, told you’re being loud or annoying.”

Aziraphale rubbed Crowley’s hand with his thumb. “Would it help if I told you that I don’t think that you’re either of those things?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s something I would… need to get used to.” Crowley wiped his eyes with the cuff of his sleeve. 

Aziraphale gave him a kind smile, wiping the rest of his tears away. “Then you take all the time you need, dear, because I think your singing is lovely. You don’t need to be scared of singing around me, okay?”

The demon nodded, Aziraphale understanding it as a sign of gratitude. Crowley had always felt… to call it ‘uncomfortable’ wouldn’t do it justice, with the standard two words. They found compromises to show their thanks to each other.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Crowley shut his eyes. “The food’s probably burning at this point.”

“It’s alright.” Aziraphale removed a hand from one of Crowley’s bringing it up to cup his cheek.

“I wanted to make something special. I invited you for dinner and- and it’s probably ruined.” Crowley leaned into Aziraphale’s hand, looking infinitely more tired than when Aziraphale first came in. “I’m sorry to make you come all this way for dinner just to have it kind of… fall apart.”

“I’m perfectly happy with just being here to enjoy your company. You’re my friend, I like spending time with you, especially now that we can do that without having to be scared.”

Crowley shook his head, putting his hand over Aziraphale’s on his cheek. “I’m still scared.” He whispered with a weak smile.

Confusion went over the angel’s face. “Why are you scared, dear?”

Crowley kept taking deep breaths, even if he knew he didn’t need it at this point. “Because I love you, angel.”

“I love you, too. You know that.” Aziraphale was even more confused. They’d told each other plenty of times that they love each other, many friends did and so did they.

“No, I-” Crowley’s voice hitched in his throat. He sat up, looking into Aziraphale’s eyes. “I love you, Aziraphale. Actual, proper love.”

Aziraphale stared at Crowley in disbelief, searching him for even a shred of a possibility that he was doing this to mess with the angel. When he couldn’t find one, his voice came out rather weak. “How long?”

“Oh, you know.” Crowley shrugged, holding the angel’s hand on his cheek tight. “Since Eden.” He gave a watery laugh, tears growing in his eyes again.

Aziraphale let a little gasp out and he moved his chair forward a bit so he could be closer. “That long? My dear, why haven’t you told me?”

“I was scared. I thought maybe you already knew, and just… didn’t feel the same. I thought maybe… Maybe you’d leave me, stop talking to me. I even thought that…” His lip started to quiver, his chin wrinkling as he tried to suppress any further crying. “I thought you might fall. That you’d reciprocate but- but we wouldn’t get to ]be happy because you’d fall, and- and it would be my fault.”

Aziraphale thought a moment before patting the hand in Crowley’s lap he was still holding. “I’m going to go turn off the stove, but I do want to keep talking if you’re alright with that. Can you meet me on the sofa in the living room?” Crowley nodded and Aziraphale stood. He pulled the hand on Crowley’s face from the demon’s grip, putting it on the back of his head so he could place a gentle kiss on his forehead. He left with the sight of Crowley’s face flushed like an apple.

He went to the kitchen to turn off the stove and move the pan of now thoroughly burnt vegetables off the burner. He got a glass of cold water for Crowley before making his way to the sofa. Crowley was still bright red, staring off into nothingness. Aziraphale gave him the glass of water before taking his free hand in his own. “Crowley?”

The demon gave a little affirmative noise, looking to Aziraphale. “Crowley, I never want to let… _them_ make you scared to express your feelings with me. If you’re sad, angry, scared, happy, anything, I want to know.” He moved closer to him on the sofa, their knees pressing together. “And I _never_ want them to make you scared to love me. Even if I would fall.”

Crowley shook his head and took a sip of the water. “I don’t want that for you. It’s painful, more painful than you can imagine. It leaves you feeling empty, broken, unwanted.”

“I wouldn’t care.”

Crowley nearly spit out the water in his mouth. “How can you say that, angel? You’re not scared at all of falling?” Aziraphale shook his head, moving a hand to rest on the nape of Crowley’s neck. Crowley tried to ignore it4 and pushed his next words out. “Why? Why aren’t you scared?”

Aziraphale moved even closer, taking the glass from Crowley’s hands and setting it on the table. “Because I know that I could fall a thousand times…” He looked back to Crowley, leaning forward so their noses nearly touched, “And you’d be there to catch me every single time.”

Crowley let out a breath, and Aziraphale could feel it on his face, impossibly close. Crowley looked at Aziraphale’s mouth before looking him in the eyes, his own golden irises swimming with eons of longing. “Can I kiss you?”

Aziraphale laughed, making Crowley’s stomach do somersaults. “Yes.”

Crowley nodded, quite nervously. He leaned in, their lips brushing together. It was a rather short kiss, not because either of them exactly intended for it to be, but because Crowley had pulled away barely after it had begun, afraid he would completely melt. 

Aziraphale frowned, gently rubbing the back of Crowley’s neck with the hand that he had kept there, feeling the tension the demon kept in the muscles there. “Was that alright, dear?”

Crowley nodded, looking down at the floor to collect his thoughts. When Aziraphale saw him look back up, he had a shell shocked look on his face. “Can we… do that again?”

Aziraphale made it a point to look like he was thinking about something drastically important as if he had not already come up with an answer. He eventually shrugged, removing his hand from Crowley’s neck and moving it to trace circles around the tattoo on the side of his face with his thumb. “I don’t see why not.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “It’s not as if there’s anyone important watching.”

Crowley laughed, chasing away the sadness in his voice as he leaned in again, giving Aziraphale a proper kiss. In a way, it was exactly as he imagined, but also completely different from what he could have ever expected. It was welcoming, like coming home after a long trip abroad and falling into your comfortable, familiar bed. 

Dinner was forgotten that night, exchanged for a night of watching old movies and being held. Aziraphale found himself curled up against Crowley, his head tucked under his chin, the demon gently stroking his curled hair. Aziraphale could, for one of the few times in his life, feeling himself drifting to sleep. He shifted the slightest bit, closing his eyes. Before sleep took hold of him, he whispered. “I love you, too, Crowley.”

Crowley’s hand stopped and Aziraphale leaned back, opening his eyes to look up at him. He looked a bit confused about the phrasing of the statement. “I realized I never said it back to you earlier.”

Crowley let out a tired laugh, returning his hands to Aziraphale’s curls. “Y’know, that song I was singing… it’s always made me think of you.”

“I’m glad. You sounded lovely singing it earlier.” Aziraphale settled his head onto Crowley’s chest. Crowley gave a wave of his arm and a blanket found itself draped over the two of them. Aziraphale pulled it higher, basking in the warmth provided by both Crowley and the blanket as sleep finally took its hold on him.

**Author's Note:**

> [1] An old memory of when he lost a sword but gained a friend.  
> [2] Even through the thorough soundproofing that Crowley went through the trouble of to ensure nobody outside of the apartment could hear him scolding his plants.  
> [3] Aziraphale’s heart absolutely did not flutter at the sight of it and at the thought that Crowley picked that specifically because he was coming for dinner.  
> [4] Key word ‘tried’.


End file.
